


Salvation

by aleciamariana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleciamariana/pseuds/aleciamariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for the 3rd Comment Fic Meme for the SanSan Live Journal community.  The prompt was: There are tons of stories about Sandor rescuing Sansa in various ways - let's see Sansa rescue him for a change!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sandor lay against the stone wall, eyes closed.  He wondered idly if he’d meet Gregor when he finally went down to hell.  Or perhaps Joffrey was waiting for him.  _Cersei’s bastard.  Just a prettier version of Gregor._ His eyes closed, and tears leaked through the lids.

His thigh seemed to throb painfully in the darkness, the old wound almost twitching.   _Lady Arya._ Despite himself, he snorted.  _No lady that one, yet without her I’d be dead already… damn that girl!_

At last he nodded off into a fitful sleep.  His dreams were hardly restful, images flashing through in a chaotic tapestry of emotion.

_If I’m half a man, what does that make the rest of you?_

_Ser Boros, make her naked._

_Save our sons from war, we pray…_

Her face was turned up to his, auburn hair tumbling about her cheeks, big blue eyes meeting his fearlessly, lips poised for a kiss.  He wrapped an arm around her and leaned down towards her.  Suddenly, he felt her squirming within his grasp, big blue eyes wide and terrified, the sound of her screams reverberating…

He jerked awake and cursed.  Always her face, damn her, and that damned song.

In the darkness, Sandor Clegane realized that he was weeping.

***

Alayne and Mya giggled, sitting barefoot in the bed.  Alayne did not know whether she should be scandalized or not, but Randa’s raunchy description of her most recent lover and his failure to meet the very high standard he had set for himself prior to retiring to the cushions was too amusing for Alayne to keep her face still.

“Three strokes!” Randa declared, rolling her eyes, “no more than _three_ strokes he lasted!  Not _three_ minutes, girls, no!  Three strokes!  Can you believe it?”  She rolled her eyes towards Alayne.  “You should have been the one to bed him, Alayne, you would never know the difference!”

Alayne’s face turned scalding red.  “Me?!” she stuttered.

Mya fell back against the bed, laughing.  “Oh, Alayne, your face…”

Alayne blushed more deeply as both the girls giggled.  She took a deep swallow of her wine and cast about for a change of subject.

“Who was the prisoner Lord Royce brought in?” she asked, tossing her brown hair over her shoulders.  The laughter cut off suddenly, and Mya sat up.

“Oh, Alayne,” she began, lowering her voice, “you remember what Sandor Clegane did at Saltpans?”

A band of iron closed in around Sansa’s midsection.  She nodded jerkily, taking a swallow of wine.  _He would never have done it.  He wanted to take me with him when he left Kings Landing.  The Hound would never do what they said he did._

 _But what if he did?_ a niggling little voice asked her.  Sansa pushed it away, concentrating on Mya’s words.

“and when he landed at the port, Lord Royce’s men spotted him,” Mya was saying anxiously.  Sansa felt stiff and clammy. 

“They put him in Lord Royce’s dungeon, and Lord Royce will judge him on the morrow.”

“Execution?” Sansa heard herself ask, her voice expressionless.

“But of course!” Mya exclaimed.  “Think of those poor people he killed!”

Sansa suddenly realized that she was on her feet.  Mya and Myranda stared at her in confusion.

“He didn’t do it,” Sansa said.  “I can’t let him die; he would _never_ have done such a thing.”

Randa gasped.  “Alayne,” she said.  “There were _eyewitnesses,_ they saw him in his helm…”

“Any man can wear a helm!”

Mya stood up suddenly.  “Why do you think he is innocent?  I did not know that you knew him!”

Sansa felt suddenly afraid.  _I can’t let them know who I really am…_

“At the motherhouse,” she lied smoothly.  “H-he came through there, with King Robert and Queen Cersei, some years ago.”  She blushed suddenly.  “I met him there.”

Randa was looking at her with those canny eyes.  “What are you hiding Alayne?” she asked sharply.

“N-nothing, I-I…” Sansa felt her face could not get any redder.  Mya and Randa were both staring at her with skeptical eyes.

“H-he asked me to leave the motherhouse with him,” she said, desperately grabbing hold of the first lie that came to mind.  “He kissed me before he left; i-it was my first kiss.”  Her blush deepened.

Randa began laughing.  “You!  I’d never thought it of you!” she exclaimed.  “He’s so ugly, why ever would you want to let _him_ kiss you?!”  Mya poked her ribs reproachfully. 

“He still might have done it, Alayne,” she said quietly.  “Men will say one thing in the bedchamber, and do another thing on the battlefield.”

Sansa shook her head.  “Not the Hound,” she said firmly.  “Not the things he was accused of.  He, well,” she blushed again, “he likes to kill but I saw him try to help somebody who was suffering.  He would not have done that.”  She quailed before the skeptical eyes of the two girls.  Randa was the first to speak.

“Well, girls,” she said, “life is overrated.”  A smile broke suddenly.  “You want to go down to the dungeons and get him out?”

***

Alayne tentatively descended the steps, feeling afraid.  Randa had the carefully packed knapsack with trail food and extra clothes, and Mya carried a torch and a sharp dagger… just in case the man tried to attack them.

Alayne wondered what it would be like to see the Hound again.  _Will he be happy to see me?  Will he want to kiss me again?_ Her body felt warm all over.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The doors creaked up and light shone through.  Sandor covered his eyes with an arm as a rat scuttled for cover.  _So they have come to take me away._

“There he is,” he heard a feminine voice whisper.  Then, “Gods, he doesn’t look good.”

 _Women?  Why would they send…_ Sandor looked out from around his arm.

The three women were standing there with their arms crossed.  Then, the leathery one sighed.  “This is on you, Alayne,” she groused.  Then, one slipped forward with the keys, a ray of light from the doorway falling across her face.

“Thank you so much Mya,” a familiar voice whispered.  And Sandor’s eyes widened.  _It couldn’t be… the hair is dark, but her_ face, _what fever dream is this?_ The door to his cell came open with a grinding squeak.

***

Alayne blushed, feeling his stare on her as she fumbled with the barred door, pulling it open.  _I have not seen him in so long – he looks poorly fed._

Suddenly, he had a firm grasp on her arm.  Sansa felt herself slam back into the wall, letting out a surprised “Ouf!”  Sandor’s face was level with hers, and she felt the familiar tingle of fear as his mouth twitched, and then twitched again.

 _“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”_ Sansa heard him snarl.  He shook her as though she was a rag doll, and Sansa’s teeth rattled.  “Answer me, da…”  He suddenly went very still. 

“Let go of her,” Mya said in a clear voice.  Sandor let go of Sansa’s arm.  “Don’t straighten up,” Mya instructed crisply.  “Alayne, move back.”  Sandor threw back his head and laughed.

“Alayne, is it, _little bird_?  Do these hens have any idea of who you are?”

Sansa’s face turned red and her tongue felt thick.  Mya intervened. 

“Shut up.  We know who she is.  What we’re more interested in is whether or not you are leaving this cell alive.”  She had backed her way so that she stood in front of Sansa and Randa, icy cold eyes fixed on the Hound.  “For some reason Lady Sansa doesn’t want to leave you to die.  But don’t think I won’t kill you if you touch her again.”

The Hound looked at Sansa, his grey eyes fixing on hers, leaving her feeling frightened.  Sansa felt the bottom fall out of her stomach.  _That name…_

“How long have you known?” she whispered.  Myranda answered.

“Long enough.  It was evident for anyone who cared to look.” 

The Hound threw back his head and laughed.  Randa shot him a cold look.  “I’m sure I don’t see what’s so funny,” she said dryly.  The Hound’s face turned into a hideous mockery of a grin.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked mockingly.  “You should be.” 

“No,” Sansa said.  Randa rolled her eyes. 

“We should put him back in his cell and leave him for Lord Royce, Alayne,” she said.  “He deserves to lose his head for being so rude to his rescuers.”  The Hound said nothing, only snarling.

Sansa looked at him impatiently.  “Are you going to come with us, or do you want to stay here to meet Bronze Yohn’s headsman tomorrow?” she asked. 

“I’ll come with you,” he rasped.  Randa sighed.

“Let’s go then!”

***

Sandor followed the women up the stairs, his mind aswirl.  He did not miss the one in breeches behind him, dagger on the ready.  _Tough as nails, that girl._ He restrained a chuckle. 

When they reached the godswood, Sandor’s eyes widened.  Four horses were there, trusty Vale steeds that had been saddled and tied to trees.  Sansa caught ahold of his hand, and pulled him toward her.  The other girls were glaring at him, but drew discreetly away.

“Tell me the truth, did you do it?  Did you kill those people?”

“What would you say if I had?” he rasped angrily.  A flush passed over her face and she dropped her eyes.  “No,” he said reluctantly.  “No, I-I lost my helm. “  Sansa nodded, seemingly accepting his word.  _She is so trusting…_ The girl gestured, distracting him from his train of thought.

“There,” Sansa said.  “We got armor from the armory for you, and a sword.”  Mya’s eyes were flinty .

“You’ll need it on the way down, _dog.”_

Sandor rubbed his forehead.  “Wait a minute,” he said incredulously.  “You mean that we are going to descend the mountain?  Are all women crazy, or are you three just especially _stupid_?  The mountain clans…”

Three pairs of eyes surveyed him with similar levels of disgust.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa suddenly jerked awake, swaying in the saddle.  Ahead of her, Sandor had pulled up his horse.  She looked over at Mya. 

“What happened?” she whispered.  Mya’s face was tight and drawn. 

“It looks like a good place to camp,” she said.  “There’s the stream right there.”  Sansa nodded nervously, trying not to look around for shadowcats.  _Sansa would be afraid of shadowcats.  Alayne is bastard brave and afraid of nothing._ Perhaps if she could repeat it to herself enough, she could believe it.

Mya knelt down to begin starting a fire and Sansa went to help Randa set up the small tent.  She could feel the Hound’s eyes on her back, before he turned to begin tying the horses to a tree.  Randa’s eyes met hers.

“Alayne, I’m sure I don’t know why you wanted to save him.  That is the _meanest_ man I’ve ever met.” 

Sansa blushed.  “He’s only mean because of his face,” she whispered softly.  “He’s in pain, can’t you see it?”

Randa glared at her.  “No, I’m sure I don’t see it.  Embarking on an adventure is one thing, but he’s been mean as a snake the whole way here, when he speaks to us!  We should go back…” Sansa quickly straightened up.

“He doesn’t mean it, Randa,” she said softly.  “He doesn’t know how to react to us, that’s all.  But if you’d like to go back, you should.”

“And leave you here alone with him!” Randa snorted.  “No, Alayne, we’re in for the long haul.”  A smile spread across her face.  “Someone has to keep you safe from yourself.”

Mya sat on the ground near the fire and began to slice cheese.  Sansa felt her stomach rumble.  Sandor moved past the women to take a brush from the knapsack, and suddenly she lost her appetite.  The smell, though she had not noticed it in the earlier excitement, was overpowering.  Delicately she pulled out a handkerchief, pretending to sneeze, but Randa felt no such delicacy.

Storming over to the knapsack, Randa pulled out a soft cloth and a bar of soap. Sansa blushed as she realized the other woman’s intentions.  “Randa…” she began, holding out a hand in supplication, but Randa ignored her, instead confronting Sandor Clegane.

“Here,” she said, slamming the washcloth and soap against his chest.  Sandor stared, first at her and then quizzically at the soap.  Made with rosewater and rose petals, Sansa thought ironically that it might be finer than any soap he’d seen before.

“What?”

“Wash.  You.  Before we all asphyxiate on the stink of you. I’m sure you were as pleasant smelling as you are tempered before you spent two days in Lord Royce’s dungeon, but now you reek of something rotten.  The shadow cats will think we’re carrion.  Even the mountain men will smell us.  You get to bathe before dinner.”

The Hound looked first at Randa, then at the little stream of icy cold water, then at Sansa.  Sansa thought her face could not grow any hotter.  _Randa could have been nicer about it._ She had to admit, though, that Randa’s bluntness would at least solve this problem. Sandor Clegane’s disfigured face twisted in a mockery of a grin.

“Why not?” he shrugged.  His hands went up to unfasten his breastplate and Sansa’s ears turned red, realizing what he meant to do.  Randa rolled her eyes and walked away from him.  Sansa joined her and Mya at the fire, trying not to look at the Hound.  She could feel his eyes on her as he undressed and she stared nervously into the small cup of tea that Mya had made.

“So, what’s our plan?” she asked nervously, trying to pretend that Sandor Clegane was not naked and washing himself with rose scented soap less than ten feet away from her.  Randa rolled her eyes.

“We should leave him here and go back to the Vale,” she said.  “We can tell them that he kidnapped us and no one will blame us.”  Mya shook her head.

“It would be touch and go to get back there without the mountain clans getting us,” she said quietly.  “We need to make it to the Riverlands and leave him there.  From there we can take a ship back to the Vale.”  Sansa’s eyes darted towards Sandor, blushing at the sight of bulging muscles and bare skin, before they flickered back to rest on her teacup.

“We can’t leave him in the Riverlands,” she said quietly.  “Have you forgotten Saltpans?”  Mya sighed in frustration.

“Then we get him passage to the Free Cities and head home ourselves?”  Randa’s eyes sparkled.

“I’ve always wanted to visit the Free Cities.  Why just him?  This is supposed to be an adventure, ladies!”

Mya laughed suddenly.  “Why just him, Randa!  What do you think Alayne?”  Sansa’s eyes darted towards where Sandor was dressing himself in fresh clothes from the bag.  She wondered momentarily how angry Bronze Yohn had been to find the stolen clothing and armor. 

“I’ve always wanted to visit Pentos,” she offered hesitantly.  Randa laughed.

“Pentos it is!” she said.

Sandor shoved down to sit cross legged between Sansa and Randa, a faint rose scent emanating from him.  He reached out for a piece of the cheese and bread Mya had sliced.

“So,” he asked, smacking his lips as he chewed, “just where are we going?”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa leaned over and pulled out a straw.  It was the short one.  She stood up, brushing off her skirts.

“I’ve got the watch then.  To bed with you all.”  She felt sudden relief.  It would be good to sit and drink tea alone, sorting out her muddled thoughts.

Mya and Randa stared at her askance, eyes flickering between Sandor and the tiny tent.  Then, Sandor reached over and yanked the straw out of her hands.  It splintered, pieces falling to the ground in front of her.

“No, little bird, _I’ve_ got the watch,” he rasped.  “Go to bed with the other hens.”

Sansa flushed angrily.  Randa rolled her eyes, and Mya’s eyebrows drew together dangerously.

“Look,” Sansa said.  “You agreed to draw lots for the watch.  You need rest more than any of us after the time you spent in that cell.”

“I _said,_ I’ve got the watch,” Sandor said dangerously.  Sansa stood up in righteous wrath.   Mya and Randa looked at each other, and then stood, moving towards the tent.  Sansa was left alone with Sandor, matching glare for glare. 

“Just go to bed, little bird,” he rasped, before sitting down on a rock.  Sansa opened her mouth, wanting to scream at him, before remembering her courtesies.  _Courtesy is a lady’s armor.  It kept you alive in Kings Landing._ She sat down on the rock next to him, arranging her skirts.

“Fine.  We’ll share the watch then.”  She had the satisfaction of seeing his ruined lips draw back against his teeth, in a hideous rictus. Then he suddenly confronted her.

“Why do you plague me?”  The question took her aback, leaving her feeling faintly hurt.  “Why did you come?  Why didn’t you just leave me in that cell to die?” 

“Because of Kings Landing,” she said softly.  “That night you came to my room…” suddenly she felt her whole body flushing and dropped her eyes.

***

Sandor stared at the girl, confused.  The fire brought out all the red in hair and dappled her face in light, making it hard to think with her sitting so close to him. 

“ _Kings Landing?”_ he said incredulously.  Sansa’s cheeks were turning red and she didn’t meet his eyes.  He remembered Sansa, laying on the bed in that ivory gown, pale and trembling, with his dagger twisting into her throat.  _Gentle mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war we pray…_

“When you… when you kissed me and asked me to leave the city with you,” she offered hesitantly.  She was staring down at her lap, pointedly not looking at him.   “I-I should have gone.”

 _Kissed her?  I didn’t_ kiss _her… did I?_ Sandor was confused but he did not miss the subtext in Sansa’s tense spine, her colored cheeks, or the way she peeked at him through lowered eyelashes.  Reaching across the rock, he pulled her against him.  His hands tangled into her hair and he lowered his head to meet hers.

Sansa’s mouth was pliable and yielding under him.  He felt her body softening against him, and heard a husky moan.  It lit his blood on fire, and he pressed her backwards until they both fell from the rock.  “Oof!” the girl exclaimed when he landed on top of her.  He ignored it, sliding his hand beneath her gown and up her leg, feeling her tremble with excitement.  _She’s a married woman now, no maiden, this one._ Her eyes were big and blue, and fixed on him.

***

When he began tugging at the lacings of her bodice, Sansa could hardly think.  _What would your mother say?_ whispered some small voice deep within her.  Sansa tamped it down, hard.  _What could she say, she loved Littlefinger before my father._

 _“Oh,”_ she sighed.  The sound seemed to make him more rough as he tugged at her lacings.  Then, they heard it.  A sound of a branch cracking beyond the perimeter.

Sandor came off her in an instant, grabbing up his sword.  Sansa stumbled backwards, trying to straighten her bodice.  _“Mya!  Randa!”_ she called in a low voice. 

Realizing there was now no more point to stealth, the savage, unwashed men straightened up.  _Five of them.  There are only five…_ So few, yet so many!  Randa and Mya burst out from the tent, eyes raking Sansa’s disheveled appearance without reaction before settling on the mountain men.  Mya’s dagger flashed out.  Sansa snatched up the torch, backing away.  The men laughed and to her surprise, Sansa recognized Timmet.  _That is right… Tyrion armed them, gave them steel._ It made them more dangerous, she knew, even deadly.

“Throw down your sword for the mercy of a quick death!” Timmet called out.  “The women will be spared.”  The sight of his leer made Sansa feel ill.

Sandor ignored him and charged into them, sword flashing.  Sansa let out a wordless cry of fear.  _He has no plate armor, only chainmail…_ Two men fell to the ground in an instant and then Mya was there, stabbing a third in the back.  One of the men lashed out with a fist, and Mya fell to the ground.  Then the last two were circling around Sandor and he was backing up, sword at the ready.  Sansa hefted her torch and began to creep closer, and Randa grabbed a big rock and followed close behind her.  The Hound’s eyes flicked in Sansa’s direction, acknowledging her intent, and then he charged towards the man closest to him, his sword raining blood down on the earth.

The last wilding was on him.  Timmet chopped towards him with the heavy steel sword, slashing down on the exposed part of the Hound's forearm.  He never saw Sansa coming.  She shoved the torch into his face, as blood began pouring out from Sandor Clegane’s arm.  There was a sudden, sickening crunch as Randa threw her rock and Timmet crumpled to the ground, never again to rise.

Sansa fell to her knees beside the Hound, yanking open his sleeve to survey the extent of the damage.


	5. Chapter 5

Light blazed across the room, cutting into Sandor’s eyeballs like shards of glass, and he groaned.  He tried to bring his arm up to shield himself, but a stabbing pain protested the movement.

“He’s awake,” he heard a feminine voice say.  There was the sound of rustling skirts, and other noises he couldn’t quite identify.  Then—

“Drink this.”  Sansa’s voice was soft but firm, her arm sliding under his shoulders to support him as she lifted the glass to his lips.  “It will help the pain.”

Sandor’s head swam but she was inexorable, keeping a firm grasp on him until she emptied the cup down his throat.  She lowered his head down to the pillow, and then he heard her begin to sing in a soft voice.  _Gentle mother, font of mercy…_ Her soft hands stroked his hair gently, and Sandor felt sleep finally carry him away on gentle wings.

***

Sansa stood in the small kitchen, watching Mya slice sausage.  “Can I help?” she asked after a moment, feeling somewhat nervous.  The kitchens had always been a foreign land to her, ruled over by fat jolly cooks who were always ready with a treat and a smile for their lady.  But she did not want to leave Mya and Randa to do all the work, either, and Randa was feeding the horses. 

Mya gestured sharply.  “You can take that onion and cut it into slices,” she said abruptly.  “I’m going to cook this over the fire with the sausage and we’ll eat it with the mustard greens.”  Sansa took the knife and, somewhat awkwardly, began to slice the onion. 

“How is your dog doing?” Mya asked as the girls worked together companionably. 

Sansa flushed.  “He’s a man, not a dog,” she said irritably.  “And he’s doing better I think.  The fever broke last night and it hasn’t returned again.  I dressed his arm again this morning and the pus hasn’t returned.”

“Good,” said Mya.  “It’s when the pus returns that you have to worry.”  She looked over at Sansa’s onion and burst out laughing.  “By the Seven, Alayne, could you possibly cut those slices any larger?” 

Sansa blushed.  “I can’t cut it any smaller!” she exclaimed. 

“They should be thin slices,” Mya said with the effortless confidence that experience provided.  “Much thinner.  You’ll need to hack those again crossways.” 

Sansa glowered at the onion but continued to work, praying the knife didn’t twist sideways to angle for her thumb.  “How long do you think it’ll be before he’s up and moving again?” 

Mya set the sausages into the pan to await the onions, and turned her attention to the crusty loaf of dark bread.  “At least a week before we can leave, I’d say.  He needs to be able to sit a horse without falling off again.”

“I hope it's sooner,” Randa said, blowing into the room with a gust of cold air.  “Those villagers are suspicious and afraid.  We need to get him out of here before someone finally summons the local lord to take a hand.”

Mya frowned.  “I talked to the village mayor this morning, while Alayne was bathing him.  He told me that they know who he is, that Clegane built the palisade around the village some time ago when he came through here with his daughter.  The man also told me that for this he’ll keep our secret quiet, but he wants us gone as soon as Clegane can sit a horse.”

“They’ve heard of Saltpans,” Sansa said softly.  The room echoed with silence, and then Mya emptied the clumsily chopped onions into the pan, laying it over the small fire. 

At last, Randa broke the silence.  “Now Alayne,” she said, with a conspiratorial wink, “I didn’t have the chance to ask you the night of the attack because of all the hubbub over getting down as quickly as possible.  But, don’t think I’ve forgotten!”  Sansa stared, confused.  “When we came out of that tent, why was your bodice half-laced?”

Sansa’s face turned burning red as a slow grin spread across Mya’s face.  “I-I…” words failed her and she fixed her eyes on her boots instead.

“Well?” asked Mya.  “I-I _what?”_

“We were just… talking, about Kings Landing, and…” words failed her again. 

“Some sentries you two make,” scoffed Mya.  “I’m surprised you heard anything at all, before they were on you.” 

“How far did you get?” asked Randa, laughing.  “Did he teach you anything?”  Sansa wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. 

“I-I… _no,”_ she said.  “H-he just kissed me, an-and started unlacing my dress, a-and then the wildlings showed up,” she finished, blushing even more deeply.

“Did you like it, at least?” asked Mya.  Sansa nodded abruptly, wishing they would stop asking questions and let her go hide. 

Randa looked at her, eyes gleaming.  “He’s not so bad,” she said authoritatively.  “The scars look pretty awful, but his shoulders…”

“His attitude stinks,” Mya said sharply.  “It wouldn’t matter if he was as pretty as the Knight of Flowers is said to be, he’s so mean to everyone.”  She cast a judgmental eye in Sansa’s direction.  “The Seven only know why you want to help him, Alayne.  We should have let Bronze Yohn have his head.”

Sansa stiffened.  “He didn’t do it,” she responded softly.  “And I have to help him, because he helped me once.”

“In Kings Landing, you said.”  Mya’s voice was cold.  “How much was his help worth, Alayne?  Did he take you out?”

“He tried.  It was my choice to stay and… I should have gone.”

Randa intervened, seeing the brewing fight.  “Mya, I’m hungry.  Are those sausages almost ready?”  Mya quickly turned back to the stove.

“I’ll need some broth for the Hound, too,” Sansa said softly. 

Mya glanced at her before turning back to the food, ladling steaming sausages and onions onto the tray next to the greens.  “It’s on the back of the stove, but you should eat before you take it to him.”  Sansa nodded.

The girls settled in around the tiny table in silence, tearing into the hot food with a vengeance.  At last, Randa glanced at Mya.

“Did the mayor tell you if the Saltpans port is active?” 

Mya sighed, making an unhappy face.  “Yes it is, and it is the closest one too.  With Alayne with us, and the Hound, we can’t travel to Maidenpool.  It is too far through war-wracked territory.”  She glowered in Sansa’s direction.  “As soon as he’s strong enough, we’ll need to head that way.”

“But his _face!”_ Sansa objected.  “If he’s recognized, why…” 

Mya shrugged.  “You are the one who wanted to save him and go through Lannister-controlled territory to do it.  We’ll have to make sure that he keeps his helm on to cover those scars.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa paced the small room nervously.  Sandor sat on the bed, his scars concealed beneath the steel of Bronze Yohn’s stolen helm.  She did not dare let him remove the helm for even a moment while they were in Saltpans.  But the helm did not hinder his drinking, and he had been chugging back on the flagon of red wine ever since the others had left.

 _What is taking Randa and Mya so long?_ The possible answers to that question frightened her.  They _must_ find a ship leaving for Pentos, or another of the Free Cities, and it must be found _soon._ Every day they remained in Saltpans increased the likelihood that Sandor would be discovered, or Sansa herself.  The thought of what would happen to her once the redcloaks laid their hands on her was enough to leave her gibbering with fear inside, clinging to self-control with the tips of her fingernails.

“Stop moving like that, little bird,” the Hound rasped angrily.  “I’m sick of your fidgeting.”

For an instant, the fantasy of punching him square on the tip of his nose entered Sansa’s mind.  It was not ladylike, but it would feel _so_ good.  If anything, the Hound had managed to become even more mean once he woke up.  He had never thanked Sansa for his ministrations, not once.  He had asked who had bathed him, and when Mya had answered, jeeringly asked the blushing Sansa if she enjoyed the eyeful.  He made nasty comments whenever anyone did anything nice for him, he tried to take over at every moment, in short, the Hound had made himself a pain in the arse.

 _A lady should not even think such language – but that is what he_ is!

On an impulse, she turned to confront him.  “Why do you have to be so mean?”  The words came out angrily, but Sansa found she didn’t care.  “Bronze Yohn would have had your head if we hadn’t taken you out.  Randa, Mya, myself – we all risked our safety to save _your_ life, on our way down that mountain.  And you can’t even summon up the barest amount of courtesy!”

Before she knew it, Sansa’s body had slammed backwards against the wall.  His hands were on her shoulders, bruising, cruel.  A tendril of fear wriggled its way through her belly, entwined with an excitement she couldn’t quite explain.

“ _Maybe,_ little bird, I didn’t want your rescue!  Maybe I was looking forward to the eternal peace that Bronze Yohn’s headsman offered!”  The words were snarled, angry.  His eyes, fixed on hers, were sullen.  _He is drunk, the bastard._  The thought didn’t assuage the hurt that his words caused.

“If you wanted to die so badly why didn’t you just tell me?” she snarled.  “We could have left you there to rot in your own stink with rats nibbling on your toes until Bronze Yohn came for you!  We could be warm and comfortable, inside a castle, with servants.  Instead we’ve been on the road, cold, hungry, in danger, all because of you!”  Sansa tried to squirm loose, but his fingers were iron and the heat of his body pressed against her.  “Mya’s right, you are as mean as a snake!”

His lips came down on Sansa’s then.  It felt strange, the scarred flesh grating against her skin, but it stoked a furnace in her belly.  His arms were around her, one hand pressing against the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair.

Before she knew it, she was falling into the bed with Sandor on top of her.  He buried his lips in the side of her neck, and Sansa began writhing. 

“What are you _doing?”_ she heard herself gasp.  Her mother’s face came into her mind, and Sansa thought of Lady Catelyn’s horror at seeing her daughter thus.  Then Sandor was pulling her dress away from her body, and Sansa found herself kicking it loose.  
  
He tangled his hands in her hair, holding her so that she couldn’t look away from him.  “I’ve been thinking of doing this to you for years now, little bird,” he said roughly.  “You promised me a song, and now I mean to have it.”  He pushed her shift down, baring her to the waist. 

Sandor Clegane buried his face into her breasts, sucking and biting.  His teeth were sharp on her nipples, and Sansa heard herself gasping suddenly, a light film of perspiration on her skin.  His hand slid up between her legs, and she writhed involuntarily.  He was hot and hard against her, pressing her down into the bed.    

The door slammed open quite suddenly, and Sansa screamed.  The Hound lifted up off her, reaching for his sword, before he realized who it was.

Mya and Randa stood in the doorway, eyes big with surprise.  Mya rolled her eyes and Randa began to giggle.  Sansa felt her cheeks burning as she wrapped the blanket around herself, struggling to sit up.

“Did we interrupt anything important?”  Randa asked innocently.

Mya closed the door behind them.  “Put on your clothes, Alayne, it’s time to go.”  She threw Sansa’s brown woolen dress at her, before kneeling to rummage in the saddlebags.

“You found a ship?” Sansa asked, pulling the dress over her head.  Randa came behind her and began pulling the laces tight.

“Yes,” the Vale girl said.  “It leaves for Pentos within the hour and from there for Qohor.”  Her hands were firm as she knotted them off.

***

Tension filled Sandor’s every nerve as they rode through the port city.  _This is a ghost town._ Whenever he thought of what had been done in his name, rage filled him. 

Sansa rode directly ahead of him.  Every time she looked at him, her face burned red.  He found her embarrassment strange.  _She’s not a maid but she acts like one.  But then, all her bed experience was with Tyrion Lannister.  Little wonder then…_ Anger filled him at the thought, quickly banished by the memory of Sansa’s lithe body writhing beneath him.  _She wants it; I can tell.  She didn’t tell me to stop, and her tongue..._ He thought that he would gladly go to each of the seven hells in turn if it meant the taste of Sansa Stark’s tongue, tentatively exploring his scarred lips.

The streets were filled with Lannister redcloaks.  Here and there, he saw smallfolk.  If he were recognized, it would be his death.  What was more, it would mean _Sansa’s_ death, and trouble for the other girls. 

After an eternity, they were at the docks.  The captain came down the gangplank.  “Lady Alayne, I presume,” he said, vigorously shaking the little bird’s hand.  Sansa’s smile was tight and frozen.  “And you must be Pate.  Greetings to you, goodman.  Welcome to _The White Swan.”_

The White Swan… _what kind of fool names his ship that?_

Mya leaned over and hissed at him.  “Don’t take your helm off on the deck.  The man doesn’t know who you are but he will if he sees those scars.”  Sandor glowered at her, following them up the gangplank.

Once in the ship, Sandor studied his small room.  The three girls were sharing the room directly across from his.  He sat down on the bed and began to pull off his boots.  _The nights will be cold and lonely in this room.  Only two weeks though, until the ship arrives in Pentos.  I’ll leave the women there and be on my way to Qohor._ He could join a sellsword company there.

The door opened, startling him.  He looked up into Sansa Stark’s blue eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa stood on the deck, tilting her head back to let the wind blow out her hair.  Salt bit at her nostrils, sharp and heavy in the brisk air, and her skirts blew against her legs, outlining them in the evening light.  Deckhands trotted past her, and she heard shouting coming from the kitchens.  She ignored it all, taking hold of the rail and closing her eyes.

Standing there, she felt at peace.  She could pretend that the past several years had never happened and she stood on a balcony in Winterfell.  Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn stood on either side of her.  If she opened her eyes, she would see Robb and Jon practicing against each other in the courtyard while Arya jumped from toe to toe, watching them.  Bran… Bran could walk and was climbing a tower even then.  Lady was curled at Sansa’s feet.

“Alayne?” a voice broke the spell, and the world came crashing back in on her.  Sansa blinked, before opening her eyes and turning to smile at Randa. 

“A copper for your thoughts,” the Vale girl said, smiling at Sansa. 

“I was thinking,” Sansa paused uncertainly.  Somehow her thoughts felt too painful and personal to share with Randa.  “I was thinking of Pentos,” she lied.  _The Hound is the only one who could understand what I have lost.  He shared it all with me, in Kings Landing._

Randa laughed lightly, leaning against the rail of the deck.  Her eyes sparkled.  “And of Joffrey’s dog, I’d wager.  Alayne, have you thought what you mean to do when we get to Pentos?”

“What do you mean?”  Sansa felt tense all over.  She had deliberately avoided thoughts of Pentos and the future.

“Well…” Randa paused, cocking her head.  “Mya and I were talking and we know you don’t want to go back to Littlefinger, or to marry Harry.  But you can’t go North with the Boltons in Winterfell and Mya and I will want to go back to the Vale.  It is our home.”

Sansa’s eyes glittered suddenly.  _Of course they would want to go home, silly.  I want to go home, but my home is burnt and gone._

“Truth be told, Randa, I hadn’t thought about it,” she answered hesitantly. 

Randa looked at her cautiously.  “What about Clegane, what do you mean to do about him?”

Sansa tensed again.  “What do you mean?”

Randa laughed.  “Don’t be coy, Alayne.  We both saw you that day in the inn, and on the trail as well.  Mya doesn’t understand what you see in him, and truth be told he’s not to my taste either.  But you see _something_ in him, and what do you plan to do about it?”

Sansa’s face burned and her eyes dropped to her shoes.  In all honesty she had nothing planned.  The only time her consent had been asked was when the Tyrells planned to marry her to their Willas, and then they tried to have her killed as a power play against the Lannisters.  All her other encounters with men, from Joffrey to Tyrion to Littlefinger to Harry, had been at the behest of others.  _They all want me for my claim.  Except for Sandor.  He only wanted me._ She tingled all over, remembering his cruel mouth on hers as the world burned around them, and his hands on her laces in the inn.  She peeked at Randa through her eyelashes, and saw the older girl smiling.

“Do you want to stay in Pentos?” Randa asked.

“I don’t know where else I could go,” Sansa said hesitantly.

“How will you support yourself?” Randa asked quietly.  “You’ll have no castle to manage in Pentos.  You’ll need to find some way to feed yourself.”

Sansa leaned back pensively.  “Well,” she said, her voice soft and hesitant, “I can sew and embroider very nicely.”

“That you can,” Randa nodded.  “What else can you do?”

Sansa was unsure.  She had been brought up to be a fine court lady, and that was all she knew.  “I can read the Common Tongue, and I can read and speak High Valyrian,” she said.  “I can dance, and I can play the high harp and write poetry.”  She paused, running her fingers through her loose curls.  “I-I don’t know…”

“You know more of Westeros’ lords and history than I do,” Randa pointed out.  “More, I dare say, than anyone other than a maester.  You know the North, the history and the culture.  You can recognize near any lord on sight – I’ve never seen you stymied.”

Sansa frowned and then laughed.  “But that’s nothing.  Everyone knows these things.”

“No,” Randa said, “they don’t.  Not in Westeros, and especially not in the Free Cities.  You could do something with that Alayne.”

 _Be a governess, perhaps…_ Sansa had never considered such a thing and the prospect intrigued her.  “Would the Pentosi want someone who could teach such things?” she asked.  “It isn’t Westeros, after all.”

Randa shrugged.  “Someone would.  It is something for you to think on, Alayne.  You still have time, but Mya and I want to help you before we leave.” She laughed.  “We are still trying to work up a story for how we left and how we came to return!”

Sansa blushed, suddenly feeling shamed.  She reached out to wrap her arms around her friend.  “You are a true friend, Randa,” she said huskily.  “I am sorry I put you and Mya to so much trouble.”

“Don’t be,” Randa said, smiling.  “It has been an adventure, not trouble.  But now, back to your dog that you’ve rescued.”  She grinned at Sansa’s blush.  “If you want to bed him, then just take him to bed.”

Sansa thought her ears would burn off.  “I wouldn’t know what to say to him,” she admitted softly.  Randa smiled at her.  It was the patronizing smile of an experienced woman imparting wisdom to her counterpart, but Sansa couldn’t find it within her to be angry.

“Mya and I talked,” she said.  “You should take your evening meal with him tonight.  Put on a pretty gown and I’ll do your hair.  Mya will fetch the food from the kitchens.”  She laughed, clapping her hands together.  “He’s been trapped in his cabin for a week.  Trust me, he’ll be happy to eat with you.  We won’t expect you back tonight.”


	8. Chapter 8

Sansa glanced nervously at Sandor across the small table.  His cabin was small, and the bed disturbingly close.  She had little appetite but nibbled at the fish nonetheless.  It was bland in comparison with the food she had grown up with.  It had been preserved with salt, and was accompanied by some greens that were so overcooked Sansa could not tell what they originally were.    

The small lantern sent dim light across the room.  The rays of light played against Sandor’s scars, giving him a more fearsome aspect.  Sansa felt her belly tighten.  _I am going to lose my maidenhead tonight._

Randa and Mya had helped her get ready.  Sansa had not packed a silk gown, but she had brought a beautiful blue dress of fine wool with her, slashed in grey.  She had also brought a host of silk smallclothes, and Mya had clapped her hands in delight when she first saw them.  Randa took charge of Sansa’s hair.  She had decreed that an elaborate style would be too obvious, on the ship, and instead carefully braided Sansa’s hair in a deceptively simple way that brought it off her face while allowing chestnut curls to fall down her shoulders.   Some light application of cosmetics, and the girls had decreed Sansa as ready as they could make her.  As Sansa left the room with the tray of food, Randa informed her that she did not want to see her until the morning and then she expected to hear _details._

She eyed Sandor again.  He was chewing his fish and concentrating on the food.

***

Sandor swallowed a bite of the salted fish, and then took a bite of the mustard greens.  Sansa sat across from him, spine erect, sipping at her wine and staring at her hands.

Mya had poked her head in earlier to tell him that Sansa, or Alayne as they called her, would be bringing his evening meal.  When she appeared, his senses went on red alert.  She had put on a pretty dress, and he was fairly certain that she had painted her lips and cheeks. 

“So what are you planning to do when we get to Pentos?” the little bird asked abruptly.  Sandor took a swallow of wine and studied her for a long moment.

“I’m not going to Pentos,” he rasped, deciding to tell her the truth on an impulse.  “I’ll leave you and your ladies in Pentos and head on to Qohor.  I can join a sellsword company there.”

Sansa stared at him, eyes wide.  “B-but why Qohor?” she asked quietly, taking another sip of wine.  Sandor shrugged.

“Why Pentos, little bird?” he asked roughly.

“Well, I know nothing of Qohor,” Sansa said.  Her chin went up firmly.  “Mya and Randa wanted to see Pentos, and I need to find work too.  I thought I could find it in Pentos.”

Sandor threw his head back, laughing uproariously.  Sansa’s cheeks were stained red when he looked at her again.

“I’m sure I don’t see the joke,” she said stiffly.

“You?” he rasped.  “Work?  What work would an almost-queen find?”

Sansa glared at him.  “Nearly a queen, but no longer even a lady,” she said.  “Randa thought I might be able to teach in Pentos.  History, the lords in Westeros, High Valyrian…” she glanced down at her hands.  “My needlework is very fine too.  I might find work with some merchant.”

Sandor studied Sansa for a long moment.  Her flushed cheeks, her soft hands, the curve of her breast… this girl had once been very near a princess.  Her lord father had meant to make his daughter a queen, before he lost his head to the husband he had selected for his daughter.  As a result, she sat in this cabin across from him, in that pretty dress with that pretty blush on her face, talking about finding herself some work in exile.

A sudden memory flashed into his mind of Kings Landing.  Sansa lay on the floor of her bedchamber, a bruise rising on her face where Ser Boros had struck her.  _It was the first time that little shit ordered her beaten,_ he recalled.  Sandor had pulled her out of her bed himself, and shame burned him at the memory.

He knew very well why was on Sansa’s mind tonight.  The pretty dress, her painted face, and her maidenly blushes all served to declare her thoughts as though through a bullhorn.  He thought of the dwarf, and grew angry.  _If I had taken her with me then, he would never have been able to hurt her._ He had failed her on so many levels, he knew, and wondered why she had bothered to take him out of the dungeons.  _Because she wanted to get away from Littlefinger,_ he thought.

He stood abruptly, head nearly bumping the ceiling.  He needed to breathe fresh air and think.  Sansa reached out suddenly, taking his hands, and drew him down to sit next to her on his bed.

***

“If you want to go to Qohor, I will go with you,” Sansa said softly.  “I am sure I can find work there too, and there’s no particular reason to go to Pentos.  If…” she paused, the words suddenly choking her.  “If you want me to come with you, that is.”

That caught his attention, and his eyes met hers.  “Your friends are going to Pentos,” he rasped.  She knew he was angry, but for once she didn’t care. 

“No,” she said abruptly.  “They are going _home._ They only came so far to see me safe – but they have a home, and I don’t.  My home is burnt and gone, and I am dead if the Lannisters find me.”  Sansa blinked back tears, sharp and bitter.  “My home is where I make it now.  I see no difference between Pentos and Qohor, but I don’t want to be _alone_ after they leave for home.”

He looked at her then, eyes harsh and angry.  “Why me?” he asked abruptly.  “Why didn’t you just leave me to die in the dark?  I left you in Kings Landing for worse.  Why are you _here_?”

Sansa studied him for a long moment.  His eyes were full of anger and pain.  None of the kind, courteous words she had perfected bubbled to her lips.  Only cold, stark honesty.

 “Where else can I go?” she asked quietly.  “The Lannisters want my head, and in the North the Boltons would be happy to send it to them.  Littlefinger holds the Vale, reason enough to never return.  My uncle Brynden has disappeared and the Lannisters have killed my uncle Edmure.”  Her eyes dropped and she stared at the backs of her hands.  “You tried to help me in Kings Landing.  You saved me from the mob, and you asked me to go with you when you left.  How could I leave you to die in turn?”

The Hound just looked at her in silence for a long moment.  Then he pulled her towards him roughly, before his scarred mouth came down on hers.  Sansa wrapped her arms around him, her breasts crushed against his chest.  When he began tugging at the laces of her bodice, Sansa whimpered in nervous anticipation.  The dress fell away from her, exposing the fine silk shift underneath, and then he pressed her down into the lumpy straw mattress.

She began to writhe when he took a breast in his mouth.  “Sweet,” he murmured, biting lightly.  It seemed to her that his hands were exploring her everywhere at once, and the world splintered into a multitude of sensations.  The smell of oiled leather and burnished steel, the feel of muscled arms against her body, the vinegar that had been used to inoculate the straw against bedbugs, scarred flesh rough against her cheekbones, the remnants of the salted fish upon the table…

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he pressed her legs apart, bringing his lips down on hers roughly.  When he entered her, Sansa let out a hoarse, sobbing cry.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa stepped down onto the ground, swaying slightly as her feet touched the earth.  After so long at sea, her stomach twisted slightly at the solid ground.  Sandor put his arm around her reassuringly.  She glanced at the bags he carried, her dresses and jewels, his armor and weapons, and the precious purse that contained the small amount of gold and silver they had.  Mya had said that it would be enough to get them started, before she hugged them both.  Randa’s eyes had filled with tears at their parting, and Sansa already felt a pang of loss.  _If only they had decided not to stay in Pentos, but then, they have a home to go to._

She tucked her hand into the crook of Sandor’s elbow and walked down the docks with him in silence.  Four city guards marched past them, wielding spears adorned by human hair, and wearing spiked caps.

“What are they?” Sansa whispered at Sandor, cutting her eyes meaningfully in their direction.

“Unsullied.”  His voice was tight.  He glanced down at her confused face and sighed.  “Eunuchs,” he clarified.  “Like the Spider.  But known as vicious fighters.  They are slaves, all of them.  The Qohori City Guard is made up entirely of Unsullied.”  Sansa blushed at his words.  She had thought all eunuchs were plump like Lord Varys, but perhaps not.  She had never known anyone who was enslaved before, and she tried not to stare at them.  Suddenly, she remembered hearing her father in Winterfell angrily speaking of Lord Mormont, who had sold his own smallfolk as slaves.  _What became of those men, I wonder? Did they make eunuchs of them?_

They made their way to a wide paved street and continued walking.  Vendors were hawking goods to travelers disembarking from ships, baked pies that looked like to melt on the tongue, roast pigeon and spiced wine.  Sansa’s belly rumbled, and she felt heat creep up her neck.  Sandor didn’t seem to notice her reaction; instead he was looking about them. 

“That maester of yours taught you to speak Valyrian, did he not?” griped Sandor.  She nodded, confused.  “Well then, little bird, ask one of those guards where we can find an inn.”

Sansa could scarcely meet the unsmiling man’s eyes as she spoke softly in accented Valyrian.  His answer was short and curt, and she thanked him gracefully. 

When they entered the inn, only three blocks away, an elderly man limped up to them.  Sansa addressed him in Valyrian, smiling.  “Do you have a room available, goodman?” she asked.

To her surprise, he responded in the Common Tongue.  “Madam, I have plenty of room for you and your…”

“Husband,” Sandor said abruptly.  Sansa flushed, feeling suddenly warm.  They had agreed that this would be their story on the ship.  They were refugees from Westeros, a man-at-arms and his lady wife, the bastard daughter of a noble House.  The lie frightened her, making her think of Tyrion.  But there was naught to be done for it, she did not want to present herself as a concubine, and Tyrion had escaped all of Littlefinger’s traps thus far.  _Better Sandor as a husband than Tyrion, or Harry.  At least this is a choice I made._ Sandor did not think that they would be recognized so far from Westeros and Sansa found herself in agreement.

The innkeep only nodded, rubbing his hands together. “Yes, I do, my lord and lady, a nice comfortable one with plenty of light, for a silver piece each night.  You’ll be wanting food?  We have lentil soup, one copper for each of you in the evenings and porridge in the mornings for the same.  Or you can have eggs with ham to break your fast and baked fish with vegetables in the evenings for five coppers each.”

Sandor met Sansa’s eyes for a brief instant before responding.  “We’ll take the room, and the baked fish for tonight.  We’ll eat it in our room.  We’ll be wanting a hot bath as well, and someone to go back to _The White Swan_ to get our horses.”

The man nodded.  “Of course, my lord, it will be done.  There is a bathhouse outside for men, and we can have the serving girl bring a hot bath up for your wife.”

***

Sandor stretched at long last, feeling more relaxed and clean than he had in months.  Stepping out of the hot water, he reached for his clean breeches.  The baths were nearly empty at this time, except for a few other men soaking.  He thought of the little bird bathing in their room upstairs and how clean and sweet she would smell afterwards, and felt suddenly aroused. 

“Heyo, mate,” one of the men said.  Sandor glanced over at him as he began to shrug into his roughspun woolen tunic, grunting in acknowledgement.

“What happened to your face?  Did you come from Meereen?  I hear that dragons can burn a man like that.”

Sandor considered and discarded the idea of beating the man bloody.  Sansa would not be pleased if they were thrown out of the inn, and he didn’t know who these strangers were or the consequences of such an act would be.  “Just came in from Westeros,” he rasped, keeping control of his temper with an iron grasp.

“Did you fight in the war there?”

“Yes,” Sandor responded.

“Which company are you with?”

For an instant, Sandor didn’t understand the question.  Then it came to him.  “I’m no sellsword, or I wasn’t.  I was a man-at-arms for Lord Darry, for a time.  Then the boy got himself killed along with most of his household, and I decided it was time to take my wife and go.”

The man nodded.  “Big man like you, an obvious fighter.  I’m Merle.  Of The Thirteen Warriors.  This here’s Xo, also of the Thirteen.”  Merle extended his hand.

Sandor paused, studying the man for a moment, and took his hand in a firm grasp.  “Pleased to meet you,” he rasped.

“Have a cigar with us?” Merle asked.  “If your pretty wife won’t be too upset, of course.”

***

Sansa stretched out on the bed, wondering where Sandor was.  She wriggled her toes, feeling delightfully clean.  The serving girls had added lavender salts to the bathwater, and the perfumes had left her elated.  She had not had such a luxurious bath since leaving the Vale.  She glanced at the table, where the fish and vegetables were growing cold.  _I wonder where Sandor is.  I don’t want to eat without him…_

The door opened with a clang, and Sandor entered.  He took the room in at a glance, Sansa laying there in her blue silk shift, the food on the table, the warm woolen blankets.  His eyes settled in on her and Sansa blushed hotly, reaching for her grey woolen robe.

“Where were you?” she asked softly.

“Downstairs in the common room,” he growled, closing the door behind him with a bang.  “Why haven’t you eaten?”

“I was waiting for you,” was all she said.  Sandor studied her, eyes narrowing, and then he took a seat at the small table.  Sansa poured two glasses of wine.  Handing him one, she kept the other for herself and took a seat across from him.

Sandor reached for the baked fish, shoveling a large forkful into his mouth.  “I have an interview tomorrow with the head of The Thirteen Warriors,” he said, chewing.

“The Thirteen Warriors?” Sansa asked, taking a dainty bite of her spinach.  Sandor nodded, swallowing wine before he commenced chewing.

“Sellsword company.  Pretty well known.  I met their paymaster downstairs.  They just came back from Meereen, decided there wasn’t enough money to pay them to fight dragons.”

Sansa began coughing and reached for her wine.  “Dragons?” she asked.

“Yep.  Daughter of Aerys III hatched herself some dragons and then went on a crusade to free Slavers’ Bay.” He laughed roughly.  “That dwarf is there with her, you’ll be interested to know.” 

Sansa suddenly felt overwhelmed by nausea and intense fear.  Sandor saw the expression on her face and reached out gently to touch her hand. 

“Don’t worry, girl.  They won’t be coming to Qohor.”  His voice was gentle and compassionate, if as rough as ever, and Sansa struggled to regain control of herself. 

“Of course they won’t,” she said with a nervous laugh.

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Your lady wife?” asked the ragged warrior, bending down to lightly kiss Sansa’s hand.  Sansa smiled at him charmingly.  _He looks like no knight of Westeros, that is certain._ The man’s smile did not reach his eyes and his gaze was frankly appraising. 

“Sansa Clegane,” she said smoothly.  “And you, my lord?”

“Merle Lannon,” he said roughly.  “And this is my own wife, Lenora.” 

Lenora was about Sansa’s age, at a guess, with straw blond hair, blue eyes, and a plain dress of roughspun brown wool.  Sansa felt overdressed in comparison in the green woolen gown she had chosen that morning.  Made of fine material, it brought out the auburn in her hair and a simple embroidery pattern of leaves bordered the throat and hemline.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sansa,” the woman said with a warm smile.  “Come with me and we’ll get to know each other while the menfolk talk.”

Sansa glanced at Sandor, her eyebrows furrowing together, before she smiled brightly at the woman and let herself be drawn outside.  As she walked down the hallway, she found herself looking about the building in curiosity.

“This is the headquarters for The Thirteen Warriors,” Lenora explained.  “My husband manages the accounting for the whole company.”  A note of pride entered her voice.  “I have a small business of my own, dressmaking and tailoring.”

Sansa eyed her speculatively.  _A lady who runs her own business.  In Westeros, that is not very common._

“Do you have children, Lenora?” she asked. 

The woman laughed lightly, throwing her head back.  “Not yet, but soon I hope.  Merle and I married about a year ago before he left on campaign for Meereen.  There’s been little opportunity for such things, thus far.”

 _Meereen!_ Sansa kept her face clear of emotions.  “I hear that there has been a lot of fighting there,” she said softly, entering the small sitting room with Lenora.

“Oh, the worst!” Lenora said.  “I couldn’t believe how quickly they came back.  They lost a third of the company when they were attacked by dragons.  That is why Merle was so happy to find your man looking for work.  They need to fill out the company again, or combine with another.”

A pretty young serving girl came in the room with a large pot of tea and a tray of scones.  Sansa nibbled at the edge of her raspberry scone, and took a sip of the steaming tea.  She decided that a change of subject was in order, and cast about.

“Do you know of any Westerosi merchants or nobles in the city who would like a tutor for their daughters?” she asked finally. 

Lenora eyed her speculatively.  “No Westerosi that I know of, we don’t have many here.  But there is a Qohori merchant with three daughters.  They had a maester for a time, but the man decided to return to the Citadel shortly after news came of Meereen.  What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I need to work,” Sansa said firmly.  “Sandor will be going on campaign with The Thirteen Warriors and I will need to fill my time.  I thought perhaps I might work as a tutor.  In the Seven Kingdoms, generally maesters and septas do such work, but I wondered if here it might be different.”

Lenora studied her.  “Generally, the red priests provide instruction here.  But they know little of Westeros, unlike the maesters.  I make dresses for Dunbar’s daughters and I could make you an introduction.”

“Would you?” Sansa said eagerly. 

***

Sandor glanced at Sansa as she sat there, daintily eating her lentil soup.  He felt a sudden rush of protectiveness and wonder that she was there with him.  _You left her to suffer in Kings Landing, but she saved your life.  Why did she do that?_ The light from the fire played on her auburn hair, making it blaze red. She had never looked prettier, he thought.  She caught him watching her and blushed pink.

“How did you like Lenora?” he asked abruptly.  _She was such good friends with those Vale women, that Mya and Randa.  She needs women friends._

“Quite a lot, actually,” Sansa responded.  Then she looked up at him excitedly.  “I-I have a surprise to tell you.”  Sandor stared at her, guardedly, and she took that as an indicator to continue.  “She took me to visit one of her dressmaking clients, a wealthy merchant in the city.  He has asked me to visit his manse for four hours each day to teach his daughters.  I start tomorrow.”  Her face was full of pride and pleasure.

“Teach them what?” Sandor asked, taking a swallow of wine. 

“Well, how to be a lady,” she said.  “A real Westerosi noble lady.  The Common Tongue, court dances, Westerosi history, sigils and heraldry, the high harp… everything.  There are three girls, Else, Marise, and Jeanne.  They are sweet too.  Else reminds me of Arya.”  Her face furrowed with sudden sadness, before it brightened again.  “He has a cousin in Kings Landing, a silversmith, and Marise wants to go there to marry.  She is fourteen now, and Dunbar said that he thinks he will send her to his cousin in two years.”

Sandor smiled at her excitement.  _Better this than that she be hunched over sewing for hours every day.  She will like it, and her septa taught her well.  Perhaps what they taught her wasn’t so useless after all._

Standing up, he lifted her off the ground and carried her towards the bed.   Sansa let out a sudden squeak when he dropped her on it.  Her body softened against his, when he joined her, kissing her roughly.

When they were finished, Sansa curled up against him and pillowed her head on his shoulders.  He ran his hand against her the curve of her hip, stroking her bare skin. 

“Sandor?” the little bird said softly.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want to stay in this inn.  We need a house of our own.” 

Sandor smiled down at her.  “Merle told me of a small manse that he thought would be ideal.  We will go see it tomorrow, when you are done teaching those girls.”

“Do you know what it looks like?”

“It is only a few blocks from here.  He said that there is a lemon tree in the courtyard, and it has a red door.”

 


End file.
